


Bulletproof, Nothing To Lose

by questceque_cest



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Skipping Class, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questceque_cest/pseuds/questceque_cest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of the Sadie Hawkins dance, Blaine decides he has had enough and transforms into Dalton's resident badboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bulletproof, Nothing To Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/32650.html?thread=42561418#t42561418) prompt on the Glee Kink Meme.

He had had enough. Waking up in that hospital -- that godawful _place_ \-- and hearing the physician dictate a laundry list of fractures and injuries to his awaiting, tearful parents was the final straw. As Blaine looked down to the IV piercing his bruised skin and the bulges in the thin woolen blankets from layers upon layers of bandaging, he decided that he needed to change. 

 

\---

 

Being abused to this extent left Blaine feeling desperate and completely hopeless. He curled up on his bed, clutching his knees tightly as he silently sobbed. He was dreading the day when he would have to return to Dalton and face everything again. The Sadie Hawkins dance with their sister school Crawford County Day was when everything became so _real_ and Blaine knew there was no more pretending. No longer could he hide beneath the façade of his demure and debonair persona -- those kind of guys really don’t give a shit when they’re kicking and punching and spouting off _fucking faggot_ over and over again. Blaine laid there, wiping the tears from his face and just sighed, his confidence completely shot. He gazed over to his closet and choked back a groan at his pressed and pristine Dalton blazer hanging from the door handle, a taunting reminder of his future. Only twelve days to go. 

 

\--- 

 

Blaine wasn’t a badboy by any definition of the word. He was a good kid -- honorable, social, determined, top of his class, and lead vocalist of the glee club. He would see the other Dalton boys leave the cafeteria during their lunch period and climb up to Smoker’s Hill, indulging in cigarettes and hidden flasks of various kinds of alcohol, and just _cringe_. How could they not appreciate the fortunate opportunity of being able to attend such a prestigious school as the infamous Dalton Academy? 

Now, since the dance, things were different. Blaine got it, he understood _why_ those guys conducted their behavior in such a manner. There was nothing left for them; their families were broken and destroyed and their grades were plummeting. The only constant they could control was their image -- this badboy, “I don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone” attitude. 

Tomorrow was the day when Blaine had to return to Dalton since the incident and see its austere walls and polished tiled floors as rafts of homogenous, indistinguishable blazers trounced down the crowded halls. He fingered his uniform between his thumb and forefinger and grit his teeth, jaw clenching. Blaine thought of those _delinquents_ casually laying in the grass, blowing rings of acrid smoke through their pursed lips as they skipped class, sneering at the losers who gave a shit about education. He snorted to himself as he hastily moved to his messenger bag, throwing his notebooks and textbooks onto the floor below. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore; he had nothing else to lose. 

 

\---

 

Sunlight shone into Blaine’s bedroom, causing the boy to stir beneath his blankets. He heard his mother clicking her tongue from downstairs, scolding him for being late on his first day back. Blaine grumbled, bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t curl up in his duvet and remain there, motionless, for the remainder of his pathetic existence. When he opened his eyes, however, and saw his abandoned sheets of perfectly handwritten cursive ripped and strewn over the hardwood flooring, Blaine felt complacent. The notion of foregoing his education, his extracurriculars, and his entire _life_ was daunting, but he was eager to leave Blaine Anderson, the goody two-shoes fag, behind. 

Begrudgingly, Blaine crawled out of bed and thudded over to his closet, tearing his blazer, slacks, tie and dress shirt from the thin, wire hangers. He stood in front of the mirror, glaring as he pressed flat the creases in his khakis with his palms. As always, he reached for the bottle of hair gel on the dresser. Lead Warbler and top of the class and so self-assured Blaine Anderson would squeeze dollops of gel into his palm, threading it through his curls in the attempts of recreating the old Hollywood look. _This_ Blaine, shattered and demoralized and falling apart at the seams Blaine Anderson, twisted his lips into a smirk as he coiffed the front, not spending his normal painstaking efforts to flatten every curl against his skull. Goodbye _Roman Holiday_ and Hello _Rebel without a Cause_. With a final brush of his fingers, Blaine stared at his reflection, before retrieving his empty messenger bag and thumping down the stairs. 

“Blaine, honey, if you don’t get a move on, you’ll be late,” his mother said, holding out a brown paper bag. “I made you tuna fish for lunch. Is that okay?”   

Grumbling, he snatched the bag from his mother and shoved it into his satchel. “Yep, it’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”   

His mother shot him a concerned look and quickly pulled him into a tight embrace, her lipsticked lips placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Your father and I are so proud of you for facing everything and going back to Dalton. That takes courage, sweetie.” She stroked his cheek lightly, a small smile on her lips. “I like what you did to your hair,” she said, her thumb trailing across his temple.   

Blaine felt a stab in his chest, guilt sweeping through his stomach. He tried being courageous and he tried being himself at Dalton and what did that give him besides fourteen stitches, a black eye, and three minor wrist fractures? Rubbing his cheek in the hopes of cleaning his face of his mother’s lipstick -- he didn’t need _another_ reason for assholes to call him a homo -- Blaine spun on his heels and slipped on his dress shoes, opening the front door. His mother drove him to school in complete silence, her nails drumming against the steering wheel at stoplights was the only noise to fill the quiet ride. 

When they pulled up to the wrought iron gates edging around Dalton, Blaine’s mother rubbed his knee soothingly.   “Try to have a good day, honey. If you need _anything_ , don’t be afraid to call my work, okay?”   

Blaine hummed in acknowledgment and thrust open the car door, stepping onto the cement pavement. He slammed the door and pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder. The edges of the paper bag containing his lunch jutted out from the front flap, reminding him that his _mother made his lunch_. That kind of bullshit is _exactly_ why he was bullied; only losers had their mommies make them lunch. Glaring, Blaine dove into his bag and tossed his sandwich into the garbage can that was resting against the gate. _One step closer to being a badass, Anderson_. 

The school bell clanged and chimed throughout the courtyard, indicating class was commencing in five minutes. Blaine watched as boys jogged and hurried through the expansive glass doors into Dalton. He scoffed and made his way around the back of the building towards Smoker’s Hill. From a distance, he could see two boys lying in the grass, clouds of smoke wafting and circling their heads. As Blaine approached them, their laughter dimmed and fell silent.   

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” a boy donning a crimson mohawk questioned, flicking his cigarette butt at Blaine’s loafers. 

Blaine took a step back, his hands ever so slightly tense around the straps of his messenger bag. He cleared his throat. “I want to join you guys. I mean, I wanna sit here. I’m cutting class and this is the best place to do that?” He furrowed his brow as the boys erupted into abrupt, harsh laughter. 

  “Yeah fucking right you want to sit with us. I know who you are, you’re that asshole whose nose was totally up the ass of all the teachers during sophomore year. Beat it, loser,” the boy scoffed, leaning back onto his elbows and loosening his tie. 

  “Wait,” said the other boy, pulling back his greasy and scraggly blond hair behind his ears, “aren’t you the homo that got the shit kicked out of him at the dance? It was McKesson and his group, right?” 

Blaine flinched at the slur, but before he could verify the story, the red headed boy spoke. 

  “Shit, dude, McKesson is such a douchebag. He jumped me last year because he thought I fucked his sister. I wouldn’t touch his ugly as shit sister anyway, but that didn’t stop him. Dude is an asshole.” He shuffled over on the grass and nodded his head towards the space. “Sit down, man. Anyone who hates McKesson as much as me can join us. What’s your name?”   

Setting his bag onto the ground, Blaine mimicked the two boy’s poses on the grass, loosening his tie. “Blaine Anderson. You?” 

“Dean,” the boy responded, “and that’s Justin,” he said, smiling at the blond. “Mason just texted and said he’s coming in, like, a minute. Lisa was working at the liquor store today, so he totally charmed that bitch into handing over what we wanted.” 

  Justin smirked, letting his head slump backwards. “ _Finally_ , I need some fucking booze already. You drink, Blaine?” 

  Blaine did drink, but he was sure Dean and Justin weren’t referring to the casual glass of pinot grigio he’d consume with his parents on special occasions. Still, he didn’t want to seem like a wimp -- he was a badass now. “Who doesn’t?” he answered, smiling. 

  Dean clapped his shoulder. “Blaine, man, you should hang out with us, McKesson won’t bother you anymore if you do. Legit this guy is terrified of us now, which is so fucking badass after all the shit he put me, Justin and Mase through. No one crosses your path when you’re feared, it’s ridiculous.” 

  “Straight up powerful,” Justin chimed in, blowing a ring of smoke from his lips. 

Blaine flashed the boys a wide grin. This is exactly what he needed to hear -- he wouldn’t be picked on and he would still walk down the halls at Dalton and be known. Who cares that it wasn’t as Blaine Anderson, Lead Warbler and Straight-A student? If he had to be known as Blaine Anderson: Resident Badboy, then so be it. He had nothing left in his previous life anyway; might as well start over. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Blaine lazed on the grass and laughed with the boys, drinking shot upon shot of assorted liquors Mason had brought. Dizzily, he stumbled down the streets of Westerville until he reached his house, where he crashed through the front door. He waited for hours for _the_ phone call -- the one from Dalton indicating through automated message that Blaine had not attended class. Finally, when the phone rang, Blaine answered and listened, his heart racing in his chest as he heard the message “ _Mr. Blaine Anderson has missed the following periods: Period One, Period Two..._.” 

Being with the guys had been liberating, skipping classes all day had been liberating, drinking illegally had been liberating. Any soupçon of guilt that resided in Blaine’s conscience was quelled when he pictured his future. He wanted to be feared if it was the only way he wouldn’t be bullied or teased. 

That evening as he was washing the gel from his hair, thinking of his piling up homework, Blaine stared at his reflection and inspected the cuts on his forehead left from his attackers. He sauntered into his room, scoffing as his golden trophies on the bookshelf ridiculed him, glinting from the soft glow of the bedroom light. Quickly, he piled them into his arms and broke them, throwing them at the wall and laughing as they shattered into a million pieces. Flopping onto his bed, Blaine hugged his pillow, smiling smugly. He knew his rapid personality change would be worth it. 

 

\---

 

Over the next month, Blaine fell into a pattern. Every day, he would wake up and pack an empty messenger bag and stylize his hair into a slicked back coif. His mother would drive him to school and he would slam the door shut, avoiding the front entrance into Dalton. Blaine would immediately head for the Hill, meeting up with his friends. The boys would take off and graffiti buildings, get drunk, and smoke an assortment of substances. He had only indulged in exactly one cigarette, claiming it wasn’t his thing when truthfully, Blaine was afraid it would ruin his vocal chords. He still loved to sing, despite his new reputation. 

Pot was the game changer. Blaine’s first joint had been an ethereal experience, opening him to a word of illicit substances he didn’t he _know_ he needed. Screw his vocal chords, this shit was _amazing_. He would smoke and smoke and smoke, giggling at the hazy air clouding his vision. Nothing was better than this. This was the life. 

To keep up appearances, Blaine would attend random classes twice a week. Every time he would saunter into class, he’d smirk from the looks he received. Some boys looked at him with condolence, some with disgust. Blaine’s favorite were the looks of _fear_ , ones spouted from pure intimidation. Walking down the Dalton halls and seeing his old friends cower and shuffle out of his path was exhilarating. The absolute best, the moment to which his life had all meaning, was seeing McKesson shift his gaze to the floor as Blaine passed. After watching his former bully flinch because of _him_ , emotion began to bubble in Blaine’s stomach. He raced to the bathroom, grinning as two freshman dove out of his way, and stared at himself in the mirror. Everything was _perfect_ now. Once upon a time, Blaine felt that being an academic was the gateway to success, but now he saw the light. 

Blaine’s new friends were pretty cool dudes with their fondness to skip class and vandalize Westerville. The only time they entered the Dalton doors was to go to the weight room outside of the gymnasium and box. Dean said it was the perfect way to blow off steam, especially when you’re pissed off from teachers giving you shit, or people just not fucking understanding. A couple times a week, Blaine would go and punch the living shit out of the punching bag, every hurtle of his fist meaning something. _This one is for that jerkoff who called me a homo in the sixth grade, this one is for that bitch who said I was too ugly for the school play_. 

One afternoon, Blaine had entered into the weight room in his sweats and tank top, holding his boxing gloves firmly between his fingers. He had just put them on and jumped in his spot, ready to take his first hit, when he heard the door creak behind him. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”   

Blaine halted his fist mid-punch and glared at the door. A tall, lean boy with sandy brown hair and piercing eyes was leaning against the frame, his arms folded tight against his chest. 

“What do you want?” Blaine breathed out, his voice slightly hoarse. He tried to maintain eye contact with the boy, but lowered his gaze when he noticed the boy’s eyes glint darkly.   

“Just wanted to see what you were up to, killer. This boxing thing is kinda hot, I’d like to point out,” the boy crooned, moving from the door and closer towards Blaine. “I never would have pegged you as the sexy, athletic type.” 

  Furrowing his brows, Blaine looked up at the other boy with confusion. “Who the fuck are you anyway? You don’t know me. Get out of here before I have to _show_ you out.” He hit his fists together, accentuating his threat.   

The boy chuckled, running his finger along the fluorescent orange vinyl of the punching bag. “Oh, I do know you. You’re Blaine Anderson. However, the Blaine Anderson _I_ heard about was the smartest, hottest, and most talented boy in all of Dalton, not this fallen off of the face of the earth Blaine Anderson who seems to have a penchant for hitting _things_.” He leaned in closer to Blaine’s face, his eyes sparkling. “I’m Sebastian Smythe, by the way. I transferred here a week ago.” 

Blaine eyed Sebastian’s lips and the way his tongue darted out to wet them. Blaine felt his stomach tighten as Sebastian thumbed Blaine’s wifebeater between his fingers. 

“W-What do you want?” he asked, the words faltering against his tongue. Sebastian was gorgeous, unlike any boy he had ever seen at Dalton. Blaine couldn’t help but notice the way the blue blazer pulled around the boy’s biceps, or how his grey slacks fit just so, so snugly. 

“Wanted to see the guy who abandoned his life in favor of _this_ ,” Sebastian answered, still running his fingertips along Blaine’s shoulders. “Shame though, you and I could’ve hit some high notes in glee club.”   

Blaine cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from Sebastian’s lips and turning towards the punching bag. “Sorry to disappoint but those days are over. Glee club is for fucking losers. School is for fucking losers.”   

Sebastian huffed in amusement. “Whatever you say, gorgeous. Still, I’ve gotta say the whole bashful schoolboy side that’s coming out right now is super hot. Don’t waste it.” He gave Blaine a final grin and turned towards the door. 

Watching Sebastian’s long legs move fluidly out of the weight room caused Blaine to feel empty. Since the dance, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of boys. Whenever he’d try to pick up where he last left off, all he could hear was _fucking fag_ reverberating in his mind. Blaine had always been proud of who he was, but something about this traumatic experience was so difficult to overcome. However, he couldn’t ignore Sebastian’s signals of pure desire and want. The attention felt good. 

  “I have a fake ID,” Blaine piped up, stopping Sebastian in his place. “There’s a place I like in Trenton that doesn’t care about serving to minors. I can get you a fake too, if you want.” Blaine tried to be smug, showing Sebastian that he was a force to be reckoned with. 

“Already got one,” Sebastian smirked, pulling out a pen from his bag. He took Blaine’s arm into his hands, scrawling his number across his skin. Sebastian’s fingertips felt hot against his flesh, burning him with every touch. “Call me,” Sebastian winked before spinning on his heels and heading out the door. 

Stunned, Blaine turned to glance at the punching bag, down to his arm, then to the door. He was ready to show Sebastian that old, loser Blaine Anderson was not a person who should be mourned. 

 

\---

 

Blaine pulled up the The Black Eagle around 10 p.m. the following Friday night. He shut off his car’s ignition and breathed a slow, steady breath. This was the first time Blaine had been on a date since the Sadie Hawkins dance. Smoothing his hair, Blaine admired his appearance in the rearview mirror. He looked good, with his leather jacket and dark, tired circles ringing his eyes. Opening the car door, Blaine exited the vehicle and strode into the bar. He flashed his fake ID between his forefingers, grinning as the bouncer waved him in instantaneously. Blaine sidled up to the bar, ordering himself a beer. 

  “I didn’t think this place was your style.”   

Mid sip, Blaine swiveled in his stool and sputtered on his drink when he noticed Sebastian next to him, leaning gorgeously against the bar. Blaine could feel the other boy dragging his eyes over his appearance, lingering on various places on his body. He cleared his throat and set the bottle against the wooden counter.   

“Can you handle it, Smythe? I know it’s not a fancy club or whatever _you’re_ used to,” Blaine retorted, trying to control his voice. Seeing Sebastian out of his Dalton blazer was flustering him, so Blaine needed to keep his emotions on track.   Fondly rolling his eyes, Sebastian sat on the stool next to Blaine and motioned for the bartender to bring him a beer. 

“This place is a total dive,” Sebastian started, taking a sip. “I mean, look at the ceiling. Half the bulbs have burned out. That guy over there is passed out on the floor,” he said, pointing to the corner of the bar where an older gentleman was slumped over a booth, spilling onto the floor.   

Grumbling, Blaine took another drag of his beer. “You don’t _get_ it, Sebastian. I feel at home here, this is where I belong. I’m a badass, just like the rest of them,” he said, eyes down cast and voice slightly cracking. 

“Please,” Sebastian scoffed, quirking an eyebrow, “don’t be ridiculous. When I transferred to Dalton, do you know what I heard about Blaine Anderson? All I would hear would be how he _used_ to be a goody two shoes brownoser who was smart as shit and talented as hell. Now, all I hear is how he’s a delinquent, how he’s this total bottom of the barrel asshole who hangs out with burn outs and social rejects.” 

Blaine winced, his grip around the bottle tightening. He knew his reputation had plummeted, but he had no idea it was _this_ bad. Blaine thought he was cool, a total badboy who didn’t take shit from anything or anyone. “You don’t get it,” he repeated.   

Sebastian sighed before tipping back the bottle against his lips. “I was bullied too, you know. Not for being gay, but for being kind of a smart ass,” he chuckled quietly. “I didn’t tolerate their shit, though. Standing up to them and being like ‘fuck you’ is amazing.” 

“Enough,” Blaine growled, slamming his bottle onto the counter. “You don’t know anything, Sebastian. You don’t know the shit I went through. I was myself, I tried to carry on. But, guess where it got me? Into the emergency room. So, you know what? Fuck you and your advice because clearly you don’t get me.” 

He felt dizzy trying to focus on Sebastian’s face. The other boy looked pitying, like he felt _sorry_ for him. No one should feel sorry for Blaine, there was nothing to be sorry for. He had finally found himself. 

Fuck, Sebastian was hot though. His hair fell in his face, his cheeks slightly tinted rose from the alcohol. Despite his better judgement, Blaine leaned in and placed a wet kiss upon the other boy’s lips. He was going to show this guy that Blaine didn’t need to be pitied. 

Sebastian hummed in shock against Blaine’s lips, but eagerly returned the kiss as he pulled the boy closer, lacing his fingers in the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck. Blaine snaked his tongue along the seam of Sebastian’s lips, whining for him to open his mouth. Sebastian complied and Blaine quickly ran his tongue along the ridge of the other boy’s teeth. Nothing about their kiss was smooth -- it was messy and completely lacked finesse. It was desperate and needy, fueled by alcohol and Blaine’s desire to prove himself right. 

“My car,” Sebastian panted against Blaine’s mouth, nudging him off the stool. Blaine nodded his head, lips firmly attached to Sebastian’s, and stumbled to his feet. Sebastian turned to place a couple bills on the counter, but Blaine pulled his hand and dragged him to the parking lot.   

“We’re not paying,” he gasped, running his hands down Sebastian’s ribs as he lead them out the door. “I’m a badass,” Blaine murmured, kissing the back of the Sebastian’s neck. 

Sebastian moaned as he fumbled for his keys and opened the back door of his car. He pushed Blaine in first and dove on top, pinning him against the upholstery. Sebastian pulled Blaine legs upwards, wrapping them around his waist as he grasped Blaine’s ass, closing as much space between them as possible. Blaine groaned as Sebastian kissed down his neck, stopping to suck just under his jawline. He could feel the outline of Sebastian’s erection straining against his hips. Blaine aligned himself so his own hard cock was slotted against Sebastian and he shifted his hips fervently, grinning when the other boy cried against his skin. 

  “Do you have a condom?” Blaine breathed as Sebastian thrust his hips against Blaine’s.   

Sebastian snorted and brought his head up to stare incredulously at him. “Of course I do, I don’t leave my room without them.” He lifted himself off of Blaine’s body to reach into his pocket and fished out a condom and packet of lube. Sebastian dragged the zipper down his fly and shoved his pants and underwear from his hips. A deep moan escaped from the back of Blaine’s throat as he laid eyes upon Sebastian’s cock, hard and flushed deep red and straining against his stomach.   “Your turn,” Sebastian breathed as he pumped his dick lazily.   

Blaine tore off his coat and undid the fly of his own jeans. Sebastian’s eyes were dark with lust when Blaine pulled down his pants, leaving them to pool at his ankles. Sebastian whined, grabbing Blaine’s face between his hands and crashing their mouths together.   “So fucking hot,” he mumbled against Blaine’s lips. “You’re so hot.” 

Blaine could only grunt in acknowledgment as he began to stroke his own erection. Moving back, Sebastian flashed Blaine a wide grin before pushing Blaine’s face towards his dick. Taking the cue, Blaine sank his mouth over Sebastian’s cock and hummed in delight when the other boy cried out, thrusting his hips upwards. He moved a steady rhythm, pumping the base with his fist and swirling his tongue around the head. 

Above him, Sebastian fumbled open the package of lube and slicked up his fingers. Blaine took in a sharp breath and hissed around Sebastian’s cock as the other boy ran two fingers down the crease of his ass, working both digits into his entrance. He moaned and took more of Sebastian’s erection between his lips, running his tongue flat against the shaft and sucking intently. Blaine could feel Sebastian’s cock twitch in his mouth as the boy slowly stretched his fingers in Blaine, scissoring them and dragging them in and out. 

“You ready?” Sebastian asked in a hoarse voice as he removed his fingers. 

  “Uh huh,” he gasped, saliva running from the corners of his mouth. Blaine pulled off of Sebastian’s cock with a wet _pop_ and leaned over to grab the condom from the seat. He tore it from the wrapper and rolled it down Sebastian’s erection, pausing to curl his fingers around the base and pump, arching an eyebrow and coyly smiling. 

Sebastian’s eyelids fluttered shut and he threw his head back against the headrest. He spread the rest of the lube down his cock and pulled Blaine forward. Turning around, Blaine stood up as best as he could in the cramped backseat and hissed as he felt Sebastian line the head of his dick against Blaine’s entrance. Slowly, he lowered himself, helped by the guidance of Sebastian’s palms around his waist, and sank onto Sebastian. Blaine slunk backwards, his back bumping against the other boy’s chest. 

“Oh, God, Sebastian,” Blaine whimpered. “So good.” He rose slightly then sat back down, taking all of Sebastian’s erection inside. The other boy cried out and began sucking on the lobe of Blaine’s ear as he gently thrust his hips up into Blaine. 

Blaine grabbed the vinyl upholstery on either side of him as he met Sebastian’s thrusts, rising and falling and letting his head tip back on the boy’s shoulder.   “Harder,” Blaine panted. “Is that all you got?” he challenged, trying to remember what he was attempting to prove.   

“Just you wait,” Sebastian grinned, giving a breathy laugh. He folded his arm around Blaine’s waist, hauling him as close to his chest as possible. Sebastian thrust harder, slamming into the other boy, gripping him tight. Bringing his palm to Blaine’s lips, Sebastian whispered, “Lick,” and chuckled as Blaine immediately obeyed, running his tongue over Sebastian’s hand. With that, Sebastian began to stroke Blaine’s erection, timing his strokes and thrusts. Blaine began to whimper, moaning needy _ah_ ’s as Sebastian moved faster. 

“Sebastian,” Blaine choked as he came, his come spilling over Sebastian’s hand and onto the head rest in front. It wasn’t long after until Sebastian grunted and whined in Blaine’s ear, coming as he drove his cock in deeper. After he came, Sebastian slumped hard against the backseat, taking Blaine with him. Blaine gently rose up and got off of Sebastian’s lap, falling to the seat next to him. Lazily, Sebastian held his come stained fingers to Blaine’s lips and breathed sharply as Blaine opened his mouth, sucking them clean. 

Grinning, Blaine slid his pants up his legs and did up the fly. He slipped his jacket over his arms and fixed his mussed up hair. “I hope this taught you a lesson, Smythe. You know how much of a badass I am, not paying for drinks and having one night stands. I told you, no one should mess with Blaine Anderson.” 

Blaine, still a little drunk, felt a slight sting of tears prick the back of his eyes when Sebastian stared at him skeptically and let out a sharp, boisterous laugh.   “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, Blaine, but this has got to stop. Sure, you’re super hot and I fucking _love_ that, but this badboy act is ridiculous.” He paused, pulling his own jeans up his waist and threading his belt through the loops. “I meant what I said about you trying to stand up to bullies and shit like that because no one deserves to get tormented, but I don’t really care anymore. I got to fuck you, which is totally what we both wanted, right? I had sex with _the_ Blaine Anderson, badboy extraordinaire,” Sebastian ridiculed. 

Blaine couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was feared around Dalton, yet here Sebastian was making a mockery of him. But, did he even care what Sebastian thought? Or, did he really just want to fuck him and that was that? Blaine opened the car door and stood up, briskly walking to his own vehicle. He groped for his keys and fished them out of his pocket, opening the driver’s seat. Blaine sat down and tossed his keys onto the floor, feeling too drunk to drive. He stared blankly ahead, watching cars whiz by on the road. Blaine’s eye was caught by his reflection in the side mirror, his leather jacket creased and his coiffed hair disheveled and wrecked. 

  “I don’t know what to do,” Blaine whispered out loud, his voice cracking. He folded his arms on the steering wheel and buried his face, letting loose a string of tears. Sobbing, he sat in the driver's seat and just _cried_ , feeling as broken and useless as he did months ago. As he gulped for a breath, Blaine fiercely wiped the traces of tears from his eyes and slunk back in the seat. 

Blaine’s rational of transforming into a badboy because he had nothing left was wrong. What do you do when you _still_ had nothing left in your life? Throwing his arm over his face, Blaine sighed deeply and choked into another sob.   

“I need everything to be over.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Titanium" by David Guetta feat. Sia.


End file.
